


Safety On

by isis_astarte_diana



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Glove Kink, Gun Kink, Gunplay, I don't know what to tag this, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, it's cursed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isis_astarte_diana/pseuds/isis_astarte_diana
Summary: “Please,” you squeak, eyes clenched tight against the horror that grips you and runs like ice water down the length of your spine. “Please, just let me go. I can’t help you.”“No.” Her voice is low. “No, you can’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.”
Relationships: Miranda Croft/Reader, Miranda Croft/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Safety On

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr on the 22nd October 2020. At the time, only the first trailer for TFA had been released, and the unconstrained feral energy that it inspired ended up making... this, so if Miranda is OOC it is because she did not yet *have* a character (and that's the story I'm sticking to).

“I don’t know anything. I swear, I was just-”

“Passing by,” the stranger sneers. “You’ve mentioned.”

Her forearm across your chest keeps your back tight to the wall behind. She presses the muzzle of the gun further into the soft flesh under your chin, forcing your head back until the rough brick of the wall catches at your hair. You whine as the pressure turns to pain, the cold metal digging in with bruising force.

“Please,” you squeak, eyes clenched tight against the horror that grips you and runs like ice water down the length of your spine. “Please, just let me go. I can’t help you.”

“No.” Her voice is low. “No, you can’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.”

When she steps away and the pistol finally moves you breathe a shocked gasp, dropping back onto your heels and leaning heavily against the wall. Your relief is short lived.

“On your knees.”

Unwilling to defy the armed woman, you fall inelegantly to your knees. The concrete in the alleyway is damp from recent rain and it sinks into your clothes, the cold making your joints ache as much as the impact does. Above you, she raises a slim, dark eyebrow as if surprised at how readily you comply.

“Good girl,” she murmurs. Something dark, something other than fear, prickles at the back of your neck. Even when she pushes the muzzle of the gun up against your mouth it doesn’t fade. “Open up.”

You part your lips and she slides the barrel into your mouth with something almost like tenderness. It’s cold and bitter, the metal taste of it disturbingly reminiscent of blood. The shape of it is awkward, uncomfortable, forcing your jaw wide to keep it from knocking against your teeth.

She leans forward, a strand of dark hair falling across her face.

“Suck it.”

Your eyes widen and she chuckles.

“It’s not gonna polish itself, now, is it, sweetheart?” She presses it deeper, just enough to make you gag. “Let’s see what that mouth can do.”

With a muffled groan you do as she says.

Easing back until the barrel almost leaves your mouth, you lave the unforgiving metal with your tongue, hoping that the additional slickness might make it less unpleasant. When you slide further down onto the length of it this time it doesn’t pinch so much at the sensitive flesh inside your cheeks.

“Deeper than that,” she warns. “Give me a _show_.”

Your eyes roll back with the effort of forcing yourself past the resistance at the back of your mouth. The shape of the muzzle tugs and drags at your throat with a sharp discomfort, and you gag once more on the unyielding steel. It forces tears to your eyes.

“There you go. Not so hard, is it?” She tilts her wrist and pulls back for you this time, giving you a half second to catch a breath through your nose before she thrusts the gun deeper until it hits your tonsils.

The shock of it makes you retch, vulgar and pitiful. When you try to pull away she tuts and cups the back of your head with a hand gloved in black leather, keeping you in place, fighting for breath with the barrel of the gun obstructing your throat.

“Where d’you think you’re going, princess?” She pushes deeper. Panic overtakes you as you start to choke. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, the natural urge to try and push her away overtaken by survival instinct. “Don’t you like this game?”

She eases back again, giving you enough room to breathe. You make a strangled noise of indignation at her words and she laughs.

“I think you do.” Her boot nudges between your open thighs and presses into the seam of your clothes, dragging the fabric against your vulva. You cry out around the muzzle of the gun. “I think you’re having as much fun as I am.”

Again, the thick metal nudges at the back of your throat, convulsing the muscles there in furious protest. Her firm hand keeps you from escaping. This time, though, your hips rock of their own accord, sweetening the discomfort with firm pressure to your clitoris. She grins, all teeth.

“I think you’re right where you belong.”

Another merciful breath is granted. Her fingers press into your scalp.

“Touch yourself.”

If you obey with too much haste, it can only be because you fear for your life.

She bares her teeth when you slide your hand under the waistband of your clothes, finding yourself slicker than even you had expected. Your eyes flutter closed. The gun fills your mouth again, and now your choked cry is as much due to the first aching touch of your fingertips to your throbbing clitoris as it is the cold metal pushing on your tonsils.

“Open your eyes,” she commands, but there’s an unsteady edge to her voice. “Look at me while I fuck your pretty mouth.”

You do.

She watches you intently as you work your fingers against yourself, never faltering in the steady drag and slide of her gun inside your mouth. Saliva pools with every thrust, overflowing from the corners of your mouth and turning cold in the air when it trickles down your face. Tears follow.

You can only imagine the spectacle you must make, kneeling on wet concrete, thighs spread wide and hand buried up to the wrist inside your waistband, lips stretched obscenely around the stranger’s gun. Certainly, she seems to enjoy it.

Her own lips are parted, heavy breaths turning to fog in the cool autumn evening. There’s a light flush across her high cheekbones. Her eyes, ice pale, do not flit from you for a second.

As such, she notices when your movements quicken.

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” She pulls you tighter to the gun, giving you less room to breathe when she does withdraw. “Right here, on your knees?”

Your wavering moan is cut off with another harsh gag on the barrel. Tension in the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, makes itself known with a vengeance. Decent breaths grow fewer and far between and this, somehow, only fuels your pleasure.

“Come on.” Deeper still, and held there, she plants the gun at the back of your throat and doesn’t let up. Caught between her gloved hand and the weapon you have no choice but to fight for breath through your nose. You speed up the tight circles you draw over your clitoris, thighs twitching where they hold you up. “That’s right. Good girl.”

You howl around the barrel when you come.

It’s overwhelming, sensation racing hot and cold through you, making every muscle clench and quiver. If it weren’t for her hands you might have fallen on your face but, as it is, you slide further down onto the gun, your bottom lip brushing the trigger guard. Above you, she cocks her head and almost _moans_.

She pulls the gun out of your mouth with no urgency and you sob, panting hard, a thick trail of saliva connecting your tongue to the muzzle. The metal is slick and warm when she uses the barrel to lift your chin.

“Say thank you.” Her gloved fingers wind into your hair. “Since you enjoyed yourself so much.”

You don’t have the strength to argue. Throat blazing from the rough treatment, you croak, “thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She grins again and straightens up, seemingly unaffected. The leather of her glove is cool against your face when she pats your cheek roughly.

“See you around, gorgeous.” Her thumb catches the side of the pistol and a mechanism clicks into place. “I’ll put the safety on next time.”


End file.
